


Soft Smut Sunday Ficlets

by HastaLux



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bondage, Dominant Mycroft, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Genderbent Mystrade, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-06-14 16:00:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15392319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HastaLux/pseuds/HastaLux
Summary: Collecting the ficlets I've posted to Tumblr for Soft Smut Sunday.





	1. Night Sugar

“I don’t know how you talked me into this.” 

“Because you love me very much and you secretly think it’s a fun idea.” Greg grins at Mycroft. He will tolerate no quashing of fun this evening, not when he’s finally gotten Myke to agree.

There’s a tent- an actual, real, proper camping tent- sent up on the room of Myke’s posh building, a fire going in a metal basin surrounded by stones, and they’re _camping._  Or at least as close to camping as Greg is ever going to get Myke. He holds out a stick and a marshmallow. “I realize you lot were not outdoor children but I trust you know how to do this bit.” 

Mycroft feigns a glare but takes the implement anyway and jams the marshmallow onto it. Greg makes up one of his own and they sit there quietly for a bit, enjoying the fine late spring temperatures and the few stars they can make out past the bright London lights. 

“Oh!” Myke’s marshmallow is on fire. 

“Just blow on it- don’t wave it around, _blow_ \- there you go.” Greg hands him the rest of the fixings, chocolate and crackers, then makes his own. Perfection.

When he looks over, Mycroft is eyeing his own hand. “Get some on you?”

Mycroft frowns. “It’s quite sticky.”

“Yeah, I know. Come here.” Greg takes Mycroft’s hand and licks over the offending fingers, pulling them into his mouth for a bit as Mycroft looks on with darkening eyes. “All better?” he asks innocently when the marshmallow is safely dealt with.

“Gregory-”

“Oh, no, you’ve got some chocolate by your lip. You just stay right there….” Greg climbs into Myke’s lap and licks the edge of his mouth, then kisses him softly, sweetly, both tasting of sugar and chocolate. They continue that way for some time, Greg slipping another piece of chocolate in Mycroft’s mouth as he busies himself planting kisses down his chest, over his stomach, and nuzzling into the hardness below. “Can I interest you in a tour of our fine tent accommodations?”

“Is there chocolate in the tent?”

“Clever boy. There is indeed.” Greg stands, offers Myke a gallant hand toward the unzipped entry and the air mattress beyond. “Let’s see how much of it we can melt.” 


	2. In Which Greg Washes the Car

It’s a hot day but bright and beautiful, the scent of early summer flowers in the air, and Mycroft is outside on his own veranda trying very hard to read the morning paper. Normally he flies through it, having known about the majority of the important coverage by the previous week at least, but on this morning he is facing a tremendous distraction: Gregory has decided to wash his car. **  
**

He isn’t just washing it, however, because Gregory is a minx who knows exactly what his game is: he’s shirtless, wearing a fantastically small pair of swim shorts, and occasionally turning the hose on himself and letting the water drip over his chest.

Mycroft hasn’t turned a page in twenty minutes.

He shifts in his chair. Things are getting a bit tight and uncomfortable in his trousers and he’s going to have to do something about that very soon. “Gregory….” Gregory turns and smiles innocently at him. _Devil._ Fine, Mycroft can play dirty as well. “Do you want anything cold to drink? That looks like very hot work.”

One of Gregory’s brows flicks up. “That’d be great, love.”

Mycroft slips inside and gets a glass of heavily iced water. He carries it over to Gregory, plucking out one of the ice cubes and rolling it in his fingers. Even though the heat of the day means it immediately starts to melt, it still elicits an excellent reaction when he sets it on the back of Gregory’s neck- he yelps and spins, soaking Mycroft with the hose and momentarily stunning him. Gregory looks surprised for a moment, then he grins cheekily. “Wet t-shirt contest, is it?” He licks his lip as he lasciviously admires the way the white fabric clings and turns sheer.

“Well if we’re both wet already…” Mycroft grasps Gregory around the waist and pours some of the cold water over his stomach, watching his abdominals tighten. Then he puts one of the ice cubes in his mouth and pulls Gregory in for a deep kiss, one they keep leaning into well after the ice cube is melted. He nudges Gregory toward the hood of the car so he can put the glass down on it and slips a cool hand into those lovely swim trunks, eliciting a gasp.

“Ffff- Myke-”

“Mmmmhm.” Mycroft keeps stroking, occasionally dropping ice and cold water other places- Gregory’s nipples, his mouth, his neck- until Gregory is panting and begging and spending himself into his hand.

He sinks against the car. “Jesus, Myke.”

“Nothing so holy,” Mycroft smirks. “Now if you are _quite_ done with the car, I think there’s something else I need you to sponge off for me in the shower.”

“Anything for you, love.”


	3. Timer

Georgie leans back from the stove when she hears the door open, running a hand through her silvery hair. Mer is early, she’s in her “don’t fuck with me” blazer and skirt, she’s… looking over with extremely dark eyes….

_Oh. Fuck me up._

One gingery brow arches. Georgie’s been spotted now, and Mer has that sort of predatory look she gets when she’s about to need to work off some energy. “Georgina.”

“Hello darlin’.” She shudders when Mer comes up behind her and runs her fingers up Georgie’s back, lips pressing against the line of the short hairs at the top of her neck. “Mer… can you-” the fingers travel around and trace circles over her blouse, from her hips up to her breasts. One flicks over her nipple and her voice catches. “-just- fifteen minutes, love, I’ve- ah- got a lasagna in the oven-”

“Fifteen, Georgina?” Mer’s breath is hot against her neck. Georgie swallows, her noise of assent dangerously close to a whimper. “Fifteen should be enough.”

Mer reaches out, picks up the kitchen timer, and turns the dial to fifteen.

Five minutes later, Georgie is panting against Mer’s mouth with Mer’s hand down her pants, half the buttons of her shirt undone. Mer’s palm is rutting against her clit, one finger delicately fucking into Georgie’s wet heat.

Ten minutes later, Georgie’s been divested of her trousers and splayed out across the kitchen island nearly screaming Mer’s name, hands wrapped in wavy, gingery hair nestled between her thighs. That soft tongue lavishes over her, two fingers gently hooking inside to find the spot that makes Georgie’s entire body shake with need.

Mer knows her so well, it hardly takes any time at all to- to- fuck fuck fuck fuck-

She comes thirty seconds before the timer goes off.

Mer takes pity on her and puts on their over mitts to pull out the lasagna while Georgie recovers. “You know- as the one cooking- s’not entirely sanitary to have a nude arse where I’m cutting the veggies-”

“I don’t recall you complaining a minute ago, but I am going to remind you of your objections the next time you bring a bag of crisps to bed.”

“Mmm. I see your argument but I do not concede the point- just- give me a sec to get my brain back on-”

“So long as you leave the pants off, love.”

Georgie tilts her head up to see Mer smirking at her from the dining table. “You’re a menace, Mercutia.”

“Love you too, darling.”

_Christ._ Her menace, that can bring her off in the time it takes her lasagna to bake. Lord help her if she picks a recipe that goes for thirty.


	4. Third

Greg bought it in person, in cash, trying desperately not to blush. He didn’t want Mycroft to see it on their credit card statement and make inquiries.

Wearing it, however, doesn’t make him blush at all. He feels amazing. It fits snugly, perfectly invisible under his suit jacket, and he has to stop himself from grinning about it over dinner, because Mycroft is excellent at sensing these things when he chooses to put his mind to it.

When they’re home they exchange gifts. Mycroft gives him a custom tailored leather jacket, soft and pliable and still smelling of oils. Greg has a suspicion it’s not a wholly altruistic gift, but he’s not going to begrudge Mycroft’s appreciation of himself in a good leather jacket. Hell, Greg appreciates the look too. He looks _great_ in leather. 

Greg gives him a set of leather-bound books on the Norman conquest- that’s the _official_ gift, anyway. Just in case he doesn’t like the other one.. Mycroft is thrilled- he’s already cracking the cover and peeking at the first chapters, so Greg seizes his chance.

“I’m just gonna try it on, then, love.”

He hangs up his suit jacket and shirt, then decides to just do the full thing and get his trousers off as well, which leaves him down to black pants, the leather jacket, and… his new accessory. Striding back into the living room, he opens his arms. “So, what do you think?”

Mycroft skims him. Blinks. Looks over again, more slowly. “Gregory….”

“Hmmm?”

“What. Is that?”

Greg strokes his finger along the leather strap, connecting to the steel o-ring at the center of his chest and fanning out into an x-shape that really does make his pecs look great. “It’s a harness, love. Saw a lot of them at the Pride Parade and I liked the…” _potential for short-circuiting my husband’s mind_ “…aesthetic.”

Mycroft’s head slowly tilts. “Have you… had that on… all evening… Gregory?”

“Yeah. More comfortable than you’d think, really.” Greg’s trying desperately not to smirk and failing entirely.

_Definitely a successful purchase. He’s struggling to remember how words work._

“Nnnnngh.”

_There he goes. Shorted right out._

Greg smiles and strides closer, basking in his new-leather scent and gently running his fingers down Mycroft’s cheek until he can tilt his chin up. “Want to try it out?”

Mycroft reaches up almost reverently, wraps his fingers over the ring, and pulls Greg onto his lap. Their hands roaming all over like they did when they were first dating and exploring each other, learning each other’s skin. Greg is practically overheating in the jacket by the time he can get Mycroft to stop snogging him long enough to get it off. “Christ, Myke.”

“Bedroom, Gregory.”

The foreplay has a sense of wild abandon to it, tongues and kisses and hands caressing each other- Greg even spies Mycroft _licking_ the leather of one of the harness straps. It makes him harder than he’d thought possible, especially on his knees as Myke slicks him, taking the time to tease Greg until he’s begging. He’s aching with need by the time Mycroft’s hands wrap around the straps and pull, filling him with one long, slow thrust.

Greg moans. Myke’s hands on the harness let him pull Greg back onto him, getting him even deeper than usual. He can hear Myke telling him how beautiful he looks, showering him in praise and compliments, but Greg is hazy with simply _feeling_. “Myke- god, yes, more- please-”

When they’re laying together after, cleaned up and nude- Mycroft helps him undo the clasps, all gentleness and sweet affection, and lovingly hangs the harness up in the closet- Greg can’t help but kiss him, curling in to rest his face on Myke’s shoulder as Myke holds him and strokes his hair.

“Leather is a hell of a lot more fun than paper and cotton. Don’t know why they put the boring stuff first. What’s next year, gorgeous?”

“Fruit and flowers.”

“Mmm, flowers are fine… fruit could be interesting.” Greg smiles mischievously and kisses Mycroft again. “Happy third anniversary, love.”

“Happy anniversary, darling.”


	5. Restrained Noise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loving bondage within the walls of the Diogenes.

The tiny, querying groan is crystal clear against the otherwise silent room. Mycroft’s eyes flick up. “I shall remind you again, Gregory, that this was your idea.” 

There’s only a low whimper in response, which makes Mycroft smile, sharp and predatory. He rises from his comfortable high-back office chair and strides over to the door to check the lock again. Secure. And mostly soundproof, though Gregory doesn’t need to know that.

He turns back to his desk to appreciate the view.

Gregory is splayed against the front of his desk, kneeling and tied at the ankles to the curved wooden legs, whimpering quietly at the very slow vibrations of a cock ring, every shift he’s capable of too little to stimulate the plug in his arse. His wrists are tied as well, linked to the bindings at his ankles- Mycroft has been gracious enough this time to let Gregory lean against the desk itself for support.

“You know the rules, pet, if you come to me at the Diogenes you really must be quiet.” He strides over, two fingers stroking under Gregory’s chin and tilting it up. His lover looks wonderful like this, eyes glassy and dark and so  _ desperate. _ “You did come in saying the most naughty things… isn’t it fortunate I know how to deal with distractions?”

It is a testament to his own extremely copious self-control that he had managed to arrange Gregory to his liking and then continue his own work tasks with the knowledge that Gregory was just out of his own vision. Only the occasional little muffled noise would cause Mycroft’s eyes to flick up and a smirk to rise on his lips.

And now, of course, he gets the reap the rewards of his patience.

Mycroft’s fingertips just barely brush over his lover’s skin, trailing over his pert nipples and down over taut abdominals. He can feel every shudder in Gregory’s straining muscles, every tremble of desire seeking out the friction of Mycroft’s hand.

The prettiest part of the picture, however, must be the obvious dampness trickling down Gregory’s cock. Mycroft strokes one finger down the length, feeling the gentle vibrations from the toy and the heaving, broken noises Gregory lets out as muzzled, needy sobs.

“Ready, are we?” Gregory nods fervently. “Mmm, just a few more things to be prepared…”

Gregory lets out a frustrated moan around his gag. Mycroft smiles to himself, stripping out of his suit and meandering slowly to his closet, pulling out a thick yoga mat that has never seen the sanctioned version of downward dog, and a fluffy towel. Both of these are set out in front of Gregory to give him something kinder than hard wood to lie on when Mycroft unties him from the desk and helps tip him forward onto his stomach.

“There we are, love. Comfy?” Gregory nods, his cheek to the mat. “Very good.”

This angle is, perhaps, even better- Mycroft can see the plug glittering between those pert arsecheeks. “I’m going to take care of you, pet. You’ve been very good.” He runs his fingers through that lovely silver hair possessively. “We’ll have to leave the gag in- you know how you are with volume, love.”

Greg squirms into his touch.  _ Christ.  _ It’s so, so endearing to see him so worked up- not to mention arousing. Mycroft presses against the plug with his other hand, enjoying the quiet noises it elicits that grow louder as he begins to play with it in earnest, gently tugging, easing it out and in. “ _ Very _ good, Gregory.”

The cock ring is slowly, carefully slid off next, and Mycroft can tell from the restrained shout that Gregory almost comes from that motion alone. “Ah-ah, pet, not yet- there, just breathe a second, hm? I know you can manage.” He keeps his hands off Gregory as the man comes back from the edge, his skin glistening with sweat and shaking. “You look lovely like this, you know. Simply exquisite.” When he’s confident Greg is calm enough, he runs his hands over his back in soothing strokes. “That’s it, pet. Do you want me now?”

The plug is eased all the way out and back in as Greg pleads and begs in muffled grunts. Mycroft readies himself silently, lubricating his cock outside of his bound lover’s line of vision so it comes as a surprise when the plug comes out and is replaced by Mycroft’s own thickness.

Mycroft is gentle to start with, slow and languid with only the occasional snap of his hips until Gregory is desperately keening for it, at which point his own arousal is urgent enough that the force of his thrusts, when he lets himself apply them fully, almost manage to knock Greg off the mat. He hangs on to his lovers hips, hands wrapped about his hips until he gets close and one of them shifts to Greg’s cock, fisting it and stroking in time with his own momentum. 

He lets his own vision go near white, so close to the edge himself, only then does he finally whisper “Come for me, Gregory, come, pet- you’re so beautiful, taking me like this, doing so well for me, aren’t you- come for me-”

They lay together, after, sprawled on the mat and sated, Gregory unbound and wrapped up in Mycroft’s arms with the clean side of the towel spread over them like a blanket as his lover gently strokes his silvery hair and whispers kindnesses to him. “You really do look lovely all tied up, you know.”

“Mmm.” Greg nuzzles into his chest. “Like it when you keep me like that… should do it the whole weekend sometime.”

“If you like, love.” He already knows Gregory does like- nearly their entire toy and accessories collection were his selections. “Could hand feed you… would give an entirely different meaning to breakfast in bed….”

He can feel Gregory smile into his pectorals. “Thank you.”

“For what, love?”

“Taking care of me.”

Mycroft wraps his arms tighter. “Always.”


	6. Call Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft is away on business and Greg is "entertaining" them both over the phone.

“Isn’t it very late for you, love?” Greg pads across the flat, barefoot, scarcely having bothered with pants today. When Mycroft is out of town he has a tendency to go into the full bachelor stereotype, particularly with carryout and sweatpants and bags of crisps everywhere (at least until the day before Mycroft returns, when he rushes about to manage all the cleaning he’s caused himself).

“I wanted to hear your voice, Gregory.”

Trips abroad are rare for Mycroft these days, but they do happen. This one, by all accounts, had been entirely unavoidable. Lord know Myc had tried to get out of it. “Mmm. You all tucked into bed, sweetheart? Proper knackered?”

“Perhaps not quite as… tired… as I could be.”

_ Oh. Oh, yes.  _ That’s a lovely tone Mycroft has, and one Greg knows well. “Want me to talk to you, love?” He grins cheekily to himself, already swinging his legs up on the couch and spreading them to make room for the increasing thickness between his legs. “Want me to talk you off?”

He can almost hear Mycroft’s blush. “I simply-”

“Mmm, you simply like a rough voice in your ear, telling you what he’d be doing if you were here, don’t you posh?”

There’s a brief hesitation, a shuffling of fabric on the other end. “Yes.”

“What are you wearing, then, love? Still got your suit on?”

“Mmmhm. Haven’t even taken my jacket off yet.” Greg can sense the soft smile in his voice. He lets his hand drift down, palming himself idly through his pants.

“You know how I feel about your suits, love. Handsome man, all powerful and posh… bet I could slip into one of your fancy hotels, get on my knees in a lift… get you all warmed up and wet for me.”

“In an elevator, Gregory?”

“Oh yeah. Want you to be nice and ready for me when we get to your room. Are you in your room yet, love?”

There’s another brief pause, a shift on the other side. “I am in a car. Not quite there yet.”

Greg chuckles. “You want me to stop, love? Don’t want you to be unable to walk to your room.”

“No- by all means, do continue. Let me worry about my… ability to walk.” Mycroft clears his throat. “What are  _ you _ wearing, darling?”

“Oh, you know me, love. Pants. Those green ones you like, actually.”  _ Emerald,  _ Mycroft called them. Greg leans back, picturing Mycroft in his posh battle armor suit, hard for him in the back of some black-windowed town car. His own cock plumps at the image, his hand still idly teasing the start of what will no doubt be a long and satisfying wank.

“Mmm. And would you be simply wearing pants if you were… pleasuring me in a lift?”

Greg chuckles. “Think I could get away with it with you, love. Would you like that? Maybe a cheeky little swimsuit, and you can tell all your fancy politicians I’m your pool boy-”

“Gregory,” Mycroft huffs, sounding mildly scandalized. “Let’s leave my colleagues out of this.”

“Fine, fine. If I  _ had _ to behave, and wait til I got in your room, I’d take my time peeling you out of that suit of yours. Get my mouth on every little bit of skin as I can see. Your lips and hands and throat first- slow, love, slow enough that I’d see if you might beg me to take off more.”

Mycroft lets out a breathy chuckle. “You might try, Gregory. You know I don’t  _ beg  _ easily” Greg smirks, wondering if he can get Myc to wank in the car for him, not able to wait ‘til he gets to his hotel. 

_ Hope the driver’s getting overtime for this anyway. _

“Gonna try right now, love. Thinkin’ about undoing all those buttons til I can open up your shirt, lick your nipples red. Trousers would be last, of course.”

“Naturally.” 

Greg hears the click of a car door and the quiet sounds of distant traffic. He licks hi lip, toying with how much cheek he can get away with while Mycroft has to walk in public to get to his room. “I’d wanna touch you through the fabric… then I’d lick it, get all that soft posh cloth nice and wet, just to remind you I can and will take you apart. Stop just short of making you come in them ‘fore I let you take ‘em off.”

There’s a little inhale on the other end that makes Greg’s own cock jump. “And you’ll be doing all this in your pants, hm? That’s quite a few less layers, love. Am I allowed to touch?”

“Of course. Whatever you can reach.”

This time Myc’s voice echoes outside of the phone and Greg jumps in surprise, yelping and dropping the phone as Myc reaches over the back of the couch and presses a steadying palm against his chest to prevent Greg leaping off of it. “Mm. I believe I can reach quite a lot.” 

“Jesus, Myc, when did you get in? Almost gave me a coronary.” 

“Just now. We were able to reach a solution much faster than anticipated.” 

Greg’s heart is racing, but the shock of his lover’s sudden appearance is being rapidly replaced by arousal, spreading like wildfire through his rushing blood. He grasps Myc’s tie and pulls him down into a fierce kiss. “S’rude to try and kill your lover with shock, you know.”

“Is it? I thought the ‘little death’ was considered desirable.”

“Cheek.” Greg smirks. “Intriguingly, however, I can’t help but notice that you are in one of your finest suits… and I already have designs on taking it off you  _ slowly.” _

“Mmmhm.” Mycroft nips at his lip. “And I can claim whatever I can reach, yes?”

“That is what I said.” Greg runs his thumbs down Myc’s lapels, already entranced by the idea of very, very slowly getting Mycroft out of this lovely dark striped number. 

“And then?”

Greg glances up, smiling. “And then, my love, we improvise.”


End file.
